


Of Vegetables and Inverts (An Epilogue to Days of Sin)

by undun



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:05:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undun/pseuds/undun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sincerely hoped that Holmes was not going to refer to him as ‘dear boy’ when in the company of Lestrade and others from Scotland Yard. Well, in front of anyone else in the world, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Vegetables and Inverts (An Epilogue to Days of Sin)

“I myself would draw a parallel between the homosexual and the vegetarian.”  
  
John Watson snorted at this patently absurd statement but offered no other verbal criticism; he was feeling unusually tolerant of absurdity in general, and Sherlock Holmes in particular. He was aware that his tolerant outlook had much to do with recent activities undertaken with his close friend – he frowned a little at the idea of Holmes as his  _friend_ … the word seemed entirely inadequate in light of those recent activities.  
  
John waved an inviting hand for Holmes to elaborate, as he accepted their shared cigarette from the man – already half-smoked, Holmes had quite a preternaturally large lung capacity – and put it to his lips.  
  
“You see, there are some who deliberately choose to forgo meat altogether and subsist entirely on the vegetable for sustenance; then there are those for whom the choice is no choice at all – for they cannot abide meat in any form, indeed it may physically harm them. And there are yet others for which the choice is always a matter of mood or circumstance; that they may one day choose meat, another day choose vegetable, and, on some exceedingly lucky days, perhaps they may choose both!”  
  
John had heard Holmes ramble whimsically before, but he was quite sure he’d never heard Holmes utter anything quite as silly as  _that._  He looked at the man closely, just to be sure he was in fact conscious and not talking in his sleep. Holmes looked rather wonderfully ravished, John thought. He smirked secretly to himself; for a novice in the art of buggery, he had acquitted himself well. Once he had recovered from the act of being  _done unto_  by Holmes – the shocked pleasure he’d felt had quite undone him for a time – he’d been moved to reciprocate the favour. He glanced at the clock on the drawers: it was now fully three hours since they’d repaired to Holmes’ bedroom.  
  
“Holmes, it’s eight o’clock.”  
  
“Hmm, yes, indeed it is, dear boy,” Holmes responded.  
  
John cleared his throat as he handed the cigarette back to Holmes. He sincerely hoped that Holmes was not going to refer to him as ‘dear boy’ when in the company of Lestrade and others from Scotland Yard. Well, in front of  _anyone else in the world_ , actually.  
  
“I mention the time, Holmes, as Mrs. Hudson is likely to appear with our tea at any moment. Perhaps we should do something as regards clothing, dear chap.”  
  
“Oh, did I not say? I requested Mrs. Hudson not bring us any tea tonight, and, excluding the most dire of emergencies, not to approach our door until after ten o’clock tomorrow.”  
  
John gaped.  
  
“Did I do well, Watson? You look quite extraordinary – although perhaps I did see such a look before… yes! It was just a few days ago, when I took off my trousers in your presence,” Holmes stated with a pleased expression.  
  
“Blast it, Holmes!”  
  
John swung over to cover the detective with his body, pinning him to the bed. There was a short armistice to negotiate the recovery of the cigarette and locate the ashtray, then it was once again a wrestle for dominance – one that John was sure that Holmes put no degree of true effort into. In short order, Holmes lay panting underneath John; a flush in his pale cheeks and a sparkle in his remarkable eyes. A different type of breathlessness overtook John then. It was born of equal parts longing and lust. He surely knew from whence the lust arose by now – he could happily worship Holmes’ body for the rest of his life – however, the feeling of longing confused him; it scooped his heart from his chest with the sweetest pain he had ever experienced.  
  
He framed the detective’s face with his hands. Holmes looked steadily back at him, a slight tilt at one corner of his mouth. His hands moved from John’s shoulders to the small of his back, caressing. John didn’t know what to say, whether he should say anything at all. Should he share this unexpectedly intense feeling?  
  
“Holmes,” he began, and stopped.  
  
“Did you think I didn’t know?” Holmes asked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“What you’re thinking, dear boy,” Holmes elaborated.  
  
John simply stared. His confusion was complete.  
  
“I know because it is a feeling I share. You see, I am the vegetarian that cannot abide meat in any form, for it does me great harm. I need the vegetable in order to survive, and I have for some years been regarding a certain  _perfect_  vegetable. I tasted that vegetable just a few days ago…”  
  
John smiled, stroking his fingers through Holmes’ dark hair.  
  
“Yes, and tonight I had a feast of that perfect vegetable.” Holmes tipped his head up and gave John a quick kiss. “He was – excuse me, it was in all ways the most delicious vegetable I have ever had, and I hasten to add, I have never  _eaten_  so much vegetable at one sitting before in my entire life.”  
  
Holmes’ hands stroked up and down John’s back.  
  
“And, the strangest thing is, that after eating all that vegetable, do you know the only thing I wish to do?”  
  
“Yes?” John prompted.  
  
“…is to eat even more. For I will never have enough, John.”  
  
John shivered; his name on Holmes’ lips still had a ridiculous effect on his nerves, and an earthier, primitive reaction threatened to overspill this intimate confession of Holmes’.  
  
“I feel some fear–”  
  
“As do I, dear boy.”  
  
“Because…” John could not find the words, a disaster which he felt keenly, since it had been his words on paper that had catalogued so much of his life with Holmes.  
  
“Because – what would happen to me if that perfect vegetable were to become extinct? Having long ago eschewed all  _other_  vegetables, for they all proved inferior, even before I had tasted my perfect specimen I knew him…  _it_  to be the only one necessary to sustain my life.”  
  
Holmes’ hands had wandered lower and now covered John’s buttocks firmly.  
  
“It’s possible I might not survive the loss. My comfort then, comes from knowing that you are the vegetarian who chooses his consumption of meat or vegetable according to circumstance, thereby improving the chances of survival when the food supply changes.”  
  
“Well, that’s just it, Holmes!”  
  
The detective’s eyebrows rose.  
  
“I believe I have transformed – I am no longer the happy omnivore I was. Furthermore, there is only one particular vegetable that I can stomach, and no other – I’m sure, though I have never attempted–”  
  
“The Devil take you if you do!”  
  
“So, you see? My life hangs in the balance just as yours does!”  
  
John’s stomach gave this statement emphasis with a loud rumble.  
  
“Watson, you need food! And I don’t mean more vegetable!”  
  
John laughed as he rolled sideways, pulling Holmes atop his body. He could feel the detective’s laugh vibrating against his chest, though no sound accompanied it. He kissed Holmes lightly and shifted to bring their groins close together. He could feel interest firming on both of them. His stomach rumbled again and he sighed with regret.  
  
“It’s true, Holmes; I need to eat.”  
  
“Dear boy,” Holmes began.  
  
“You know, I am older than you,” John objected. “It is hardly a dignified term.”  
  
“Yes, but you  _are_  my boy, and you are very,” Holmes placed a kiss on John’s left eye, “very,” and another on his right, “dear to me,” Holmes finished, kissing him long and deep with lips already ruddy with mild abrasion from their evening of lovemaking.  
  
John reluctantly parted his mouth from Holmes’ and drew in a deep breath.  
  
“Simpsons?” Holmes asked, moving off John and standing beside the bed.  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“Your dinner, Watson! We must feed that preposterously loud stomach of yours before there is a complaint filed.”  
  
John grabbed the hand that Holmes held out to assist him.  
  
“And, I promise you, Watson,”  
  
He looked down at John’s groin. John did not even attempt to hide his arousal for it would have been a futile gesture at best.  
  
“There will be  _vegetable_  for dessert when we come home, dear boy."  
  
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

 

end


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